Madrid English Version

Chapter 29

The Spanish driver enjoyed his last few days before the start of the new season. According to the simulators, the Italian team was leading the standings. Although they had their doubts about the capabilities of the other teams, convinced that they were hiding their games.

By the end of February, the two Spaniards had settled into a routine. Every day, Carlos would pick up the engineer from work and take her home, before going to the dark-haired man's place for the evening, and occasionally for the night.

In the evenings, Aria would tell Carlos about her day, and although he didn't understand everything, he listened to her talk about what made her tick. He could see stars appear in her eyes when the brunette talked about engineering. The same stars that were in the pilot's eyes when he talked about Formula One, single-seaters...

Whatever the subject, they listened to each other when the other spoke. When Carlos talked about motorsports, Aria listened. When Aria talked about engineering, Carlos listened.

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Tonight, on that last evening of February, the brunette listened to Carlos talk about the first grand-prix, preparing their dinner, sitting on the kitchen counter, watching him take care of the cooking. Aria loved watching him cook; it was something she adored about him. His ability to forget everything once behind the stove. Forget everything, except her. He never forgot her. Despite the pilot's ability to ignore everything when he was cooking, he always paid attention to everything when Aria was with him. He made sure she didn't burn herself on the hob, cut herself on a knife he might have left out, or fall off the counter.

After finishing their meal, they loved to watch a movie or a series together. On even-numbered days, Aria chose what they watched, while on odd-numbered days, it was Carlos' turn. The brunette chose even-numbered days on purpose, as she had more odd-numbered days in the year, giving the pilot more choice. Even though they always watched the same series until they finished it.

Realizing that Carlos had never seen Gossip Girl, which was one of the brunette's favorite series, she left him no choice and launched it without his approval. Yet Carlos would have let her choose no matter what, and didn't even try to discuss the choice when he saw her infatuation with the show.

Aria was used to talking during the films, talking a lot, which was the opposite of the pilot who couldn't bear to talk during these moments. Nevertheless, he let her express herself, again and again, without ever saying anything. Because he liked the sound of her voice, he liked to hear the excitement in her voice when she talked about the characters.

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The day they'd been dreading arrived: Carlos would have to leave for the start of the season. Although the Spaniard was happy for him to be reunited with what he loved most in the world, she couldn't help thinking that she'd rather have him by her side than three hundred kilometers away, hundreds, even thousands of kilometers from her. To know him risking his life every weekend, to see him not reaping the rewards of years of work. To see him fail to realize the dream of the child inside him.

Because of his team, which once made him dream, and now makes him cry.

Yet the pilot's departure also meant that she would have to leave the dark-haired man's apartment. Leave his bed, which she loved and which soothed her so much. Leaving the kitchen, where she'd tasted some of the best food she'd ever tasted. Leaving the living room, where she spent her evenings on the sofa.

Aria would have to return to her apartment, alone. Carlos would have to sleep in a hotel room, alone.

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On this first date of the season, the engineer had called her best friend to watch the grand prix together. As she opened the door to her home, Aria saw Alba's weak smile, her dark circles, her even more hollow cheekbones and her pale complexion. Alba was suffering from angina, and to her delight, the brunette didn't ask any questions.

After making several trips to the bathroom, preparing food, tissues, blankets, sweaters and changing into tracksuits, the two friends were ready to watch the race.

At the start, Aria held her breath, her hands in front of her mouth, as did Alba, who showed it less. The race went well, with Carlos finishing on the second step of the podium, unlike Lando, who came in fifteenth. Alba sent a message to the Briton telling him to call her whenever he had a moment, to support him and show him how proud she was of him. Aria, for her part, sent a message to Lando and hurried to call the Spaniard, who didn't pick up. Probably in a meeting, she thought. But then she received a message from the dark-haired man, telling her that he was moving away from the infatuation of such results.

The Spaniard slipped between two motorhomes and prayed that the engineer would pick up, wishing only to hear the sound of her voice. For fifteen minutes or so, the two brunettes enjoyed a few moments together. A moment when Aria repeated over and over again her pride and joy at the pilot's performance.

Carlos kept it to himself, but during this call, a blissful smile never left his lips for a second. It wasn't until they had hung up and he was heading for the meeting room that he realized how lucky he was to have Aria in his life.

How lucky he was to have a ray of sunshine to brighten each of his days. How lucky he was to have a taster at his table. His chance to share his bed with someone. Someone he'd like to never have to leave. He'd like to be able to go to each of the races, hand in hand, as usual, with Aria. Yet he couldn't ask such a thing of her. He couldn't ask her to stop going to work at his office, to leave her routine, her apartment, her friend. And above all, he couldn't, and wouldn't, confront her with media pressure, and the madness of certain fans.